


The Feeling of Flesh

by Shadowsdarklight



Category: Johnny the Homicidal Maniac
Genre: Consent, Eventual Smut, Explicit Consent, Fluff and Smut, Gay, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Self Insert, Self-Insert, author insert, consent kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-22 04:47:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15574119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowsdarklight/pseuds/Shadowsdarklight
Summary: (Sequal to my other work 'Meat and Fluids'- but can be read without it.)Johnny's version of reality/positivity/pleasure has been so warped over the years that having any form of a relationship is... hard. Much less a relationship that involves sex of ANY kind. But I... would like to change that. No matter how much blood he might draw while trying.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuse for this. Enjoy.

Johnny… wasn’t the easiest to have a relationship with.

Moody and short tempered, but who wasn’t at times. I could always calm him down when I had to.

No, the hard part of this was… getting hard. I mean, the almost getting stabbed on an almost monthly to weekly basis was getting annoying too, but still. (Besides, he could take that aggression out on some of the clients or their kidnapped victims.)

There was no sex or touching, or kissing really, whatsoever. Not that that’s my sole reason for a relationship, but still… It’s a part that’s being completely ignored.

Anytime I’ve brought it up or mentioned it, the thought is either ignored or pushed away, never addressed. It was never a no though, so that was… something.

The most I’ve ever been allowed to touch was his neck. Just once, one night, calm on my couch, watching some shit TV, but I was ignoring it. He was ignoring me or at least trying to. And I was too distracted by him.

I had my hand on his thigh, tongue on his neck. He’d given me permission to, of course. Just to ‘See if he’d like it,’ he had said. Just a touch, a tease, something! That’s all I had wanted, for him to open up, to try something.

He was tense the entire time, tense as a board. Like a wound spring that had no intention of going off. Tight and frozen, shaking if my hand got too high, but I didn’t want it to end. I wanted to give him so much more, so I kept my hand closer to his knee. Kisses and biting continuing the assault on his neck.

But I guess I got too close because out of nowhere, he stood up and locked himself in the bathroom.

I could only guess why, but my mind could only make it seem worse. I’d imagine him taking care of himself, but I’m sure he’s just sitting in the corner panicking. That’s what I assumed, at least. He’d turned on the shower on, mumbling something along the lines of ‘Dirty,’ when I asked him about it later. It almost seemed as though he’d never let me in like that again.

But… maybe not. That was weeks ago. And tonight was similar in a way.

Willing to touch, to tease, and I wasn’t going to miss it. Not when he was like this: finally feelable and relaxed enough.

But at the same time, it was different. The TV was on again, distracting him from my ministrations but I know he could still feel it. And this time I could hear him. I could hear the little pants and moan under his breath, things he didn’t want me to hear. Things I knew he would hold back if he could because that’s the way he was. His pulse thick and throbbing against my lips.

And then it was too much, and I could feel him start to get up, but I stopped him. Held his leg down to the leather of the couch.

“Don’t-” he started.

“Why…” I mumbled back, a little hurt, “Why do you always leave…?” I had to know.

And he was quiet for a moment. Wriggling and hyperventilating, and mumbling.

“Touching each other, feeling like this, like sex, feeling dirty… It- It’s a waste, it’s filthy, it, it, it’s…” I should have stopped then, but every word had a hesitation behind it. Like he was trying to talk himself into this mindset as well as me.

“Healthy…?” I pushed, curious as to how far he’d let me go before he finally left.

“Feral.”

Sigh. “We don’t… we don’t have to do anything too fast. I’m not going to make you dive fully into the madness that might be sex. We can do smaller things, I just… I want you to open up, just enough. So I can show you things. Tell you things I could never say with words…” I traced lines in his thighs, soft and slow, my head leaning against his shoulder. His eyes flicking back to the TV.

He was still shaking, but not as hard. It wasn’t anxiety this time, but it was definitely something along the line of nervous. Something that kept him just terrified enough to abandon all ideas and ignore this conversation ever happened. But that wasn’t an option, we’ve come so far.

“I wanna make you feel safe… make you feel loved…” My hand slid up the outside of his thigh, up to his stomach. Finally able to feel up those ribs that never seemed to fade into flesh, no matter how much he ate. He never gained any weight, the lucky dick. He let a shiver rach up his body at the feeling.

“It’s disgusting,” he spoke through a heavy pant. My hand came back down to his hip.

“Says who?”

“It’s savage. Nothing but an animalistic hunger that causes creatures to breed.”

“It doesn’t have to be. I mean… People do these things for multiple different reasons. Reduce stress, good for mental health…” I let my hand travel farther up his leg without thinking. Getting too close to his hip.

“A sex drive is pointless without any- SHIT!” His hand quickly grabbed around my wrist, holding it tight and picking it up off of his jeans.

He held my hand above his lap, keeping his distance, “This isn’t some senseless gesture like some people treat it to be,” I tried to explain. HIs grip tightened as he hesitated. On what, I wasn’t sure.

By now, I would have guessed he’d have run off. Locked himself in a cold bathroom, soaking in freezing bathwater. Forcing any feeling away. Anxiety through the roof about everything and anything. Wasn’t good enough, didn’t sound right, body dysphoria, sanity, mental state… That’s what I worried about at least.

That’s what I thought when he left me alone.

“Are… are you not… attracted to me?” I tried, voice cracking slightly as I tried breaking the silence he had started. He gave me a look of pure confusion.

“Wh- Why would you…” I don’t know what my face looked like at that moment, but it must have been some kind of desperate. Something that made his sharp features soften. Not something that a normal person should be able to tell the difference, but normality wasn’t something I used to describe myself. “I don’t see bodies as anything special aside from a flesh bag that can carry a consciousness,” his grip loosened, but he still kept my hand held up. “I’m not ATTRACTED to anyone physically. I can be discussed by it, sure, but that’s all mental. If someone was ridiculously overweight that just proves them too lazy, or too much of an idiot, to be thin, it’s all a mentality…” he started going off on a tangent again. “You’re smart enough to stay relatively healthy.” He stated. I took that as some kind of compliment.

“Then are you attracted to me… mentally, then?” I tried again.

“You’re alive, aren’t you?” It’s sad that that's one of the sweetest things he’s said. (I’ve seen him kill a man out of pure stupidity and ignorance, the fact was not to be taken lightly. The man was a waste of a human though, I agreed.)

And this is why tonight was different. Instead of running away from the problem… we fixed it.

With A LOT of hesitation, he lowered my hand again. This time, on top of his zipper.

“Fix it.” He stated frustrated and radiating heat. “Get rid of it, fix it, whatever you want, fuckin…” he let go of my wrist, putting his hands flat on the couch.

“R-really? If you really don’t want to, tonight at least, we-we can just talk. I-If you want.” I stuttered, not thinking he’d actually be willing to try. “I mean if you’re not ready…”

“Physical contact isn’t something I’m a HUGE fan of, and this isn’t something I think I CAN be ready for, just…”

“What part of it?”

“All of it. Any of it. I just need to- need to do it. Get through it. Rip off the band-aid. Bite through the pain and discomfort-”

“I hope discomfort isn’t something you associate with pleasure,” but pain… I’ll bring that up later.

And after a moment, I moved my hand, palming him through the fabric, his voice instantly going ragged and heavy. Unused to any intentional feelings of self-pleasure. He shook more when I unzipped them, leaving only his boxers as protection. “You can ask me to stop any time-”

“Shut up. Keep going.” The response was fast, almost rude, but I knew what it meant.

It meant he liked it.

Liked it without willing to admit it. Not wanting to admit he was wrong. I’d let him think that way for now though, I didn’t need to ruin this for him.

His breath picked up at the contact. Of actual flesh on flesh, when I finally TOUCHED him. Ooh, the sounds he made. And as soon as he realized he was making them, he threw a hand over his mouth. Mumbling something along the lines of ‘Unnecessary noise.’ But it was beautiful. He was beautiful. All sharp angles and jagged lines as he twitched at the touches.

My thumb glided over his head, smearing precum over the glans and around the foreskin. Shivers ran up his body every so often, making me giddy with excitement at his reactions. Everything so sensitive, untouched, so tense, so… perfect.

He was angry at himself for enjoying this. It was obvious. I wasn't entirely sure why, but I could sense it. Since the mixes of frustration and fury and ecstasy that radiated off of him. He almost bit off his thumb trying to stifle any sound, but he wasn’t drawing any blood (at the moment).

Finally getting a grip around it, I was able to use some of the precum as slick, sliding my hand up and down his length, finally able to feel him. A nice thick cock between my fingers. Nothing massive, but just enough to give a good stretch… Fuck, he was perfect!

“You’re being so good,” I whisper into his neck, just below his ear. Able to stare down at my work. “Doing so well…”

“I’m not doing shit. I’m just staring at my dick.” He somehow managed to stay monotone and continue panting at the same time. Trying not to look at me. Trying to hide the red that was pooling in his face. His hands noticeably twitched and scratched at the sofa.

“Do you… want to do something?”

“No.” Again, the answer was quick and curt, quickly jamming his hand back over his face to stop any more noise from escaping him while he continued to stare down at my actions.

“Do you… want me to do something?” He didn’t answer me, wanting to keep quiet than admit he was enjoying anything enough to ask for more. “Do you want me to do more?” Though, I guess I might have been wrong.

He gave two sharp, short nods. Not questioning what I meant, and probably not wanting to know till it was happening.

His gaze followed me out of the corner of his eye, still refusing to have eye contact with me, but I knew why. I barely got a good look, but I could still see. His normal pin top pupils were now blown so wide I couldn’t even see his irises. The TV was finally ignored as he kept all his attention on me. My movements. My intentions…

He watched me more intently than even the victims.

The only time he let my eyes look at his was when I finally sank to my knees in front of him. He was twitching. His eyes and hips and fingers, all firing off like rapid fireworks. Uncontrolled and curious. Wanting to touch, wanting to move, but being held back.

“Can I take these off?” I asked politely, tugging at the belt loops. I had my head between his knees, and he lifted his hips just enough for me to get them down to his ankles. As long as I kept calm, he was. On the outside at least. Behind his eyes I could see a raging inferno of confusion and frustration, trying to escape, but couldn’t. It didn't know how.

“Can I taste you?” I spoke up again. And was gladly met with a few more furious nods. Drool ran past his hand, through his teeth, not even thinking about swallowing. Too distracted at the moment. He wanted to know where I was going with this.

I tried not to smile.

His nails latched onto the leather of the couch underneath him as my hands ran up his naked thighs. Pale and thin and somehow (almost) scarless. Most of the scars aimed at being on his face and torso, but they just made him prettier.

He let out an animalistic grunt as he sunk his teeth deeper into the palm of his hand. Short nails, chewed down to the skin out of anxiety, somehow scratching lines onto cured leather as I pressed my tongue to the underside of his length. Another shiver ran up his spine, shaking his whole body in an instant. Taking the head into my mouth had an even better reaction. The hand he had on the couch was now slammed onto his thigh, nails biting against flesh, but not yet deep enough to draw red.

I ran my hands along his inner thighs, feeling his legs, his warmth, skin, bone, femoral arteries. His heartbeat was rapid like a scared rabbit, but every time I looked up, all I saw was lust filled pools of blackening ink. I couldn’t even tell his eye color at this point.

I swallowed him down to his base and he practically SCREAMED when he hit the back of my throat. Nails finally digging deep enough to pierce the skin. Blood pooled down his inner thigh and I could feel the side of my face get wet with it. The smell of copper filled my nose, flooding my brain with… a lot of feelings. Feelings that really shouldn't have made my hard-on throb through my shorts. It was pressed ever so tightly into the confined space that, at shifting it, it stuck out of the top, poking out above the zipper and laying flat against my stomach.

He let out a string of curses, finally pulling his hand out of his mouth and slamming it down on his other thigh. He threw his head back with a gasp as my tongue moved along the underside of him, making him absolutely squirm!

His head rested against the back of the couch, letting out as many cursed as he knew, and probably making a few up just for the occasion. I slowly moved my head back, not even an inch, before going back down. His hands twitched beside my head, nails still picking at the (trying to close) open wound while he looked at the ceiling, mumbling. I brought my hands up from his legs, slowly pulling off of his cock so I could talk. I kept my lips close to him though, still touching, still breathing on him while I looked up. Finally able to correctly breathe.

He couldn’t even fully look down at me, just quick glances as he caught his breath. He didn’t want to question why I stopped, but it was clear he was disappointed that I had. He finally swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing harshly against his skin when I took his hands in mine.

“Doin’ alright?” I asked, resting my head against his still wet thigh, blood clotting in my hair. More quick nods, followed by another bob in his throat. He closed his eyes for a moment as a gasp of air racked his body.

He tried to keep his voice steady, but it wavered every so often as he spoke, “I-I don’t understand, why you would want to do this to me, p-please me. And not yourself… What are you even getting from thi-this?”

“I… I get to look at you…” And again, he was at a loss for words. “I get to make you feel wanted… feel good.” He was normally so talkative, having him be this quiet, this silent for this long was odd…

I kept his hands in mine, taking them off his thighs and guiding them towards my head, trying to explain, “You can control the pace, okay? Just… Pull me off if it gets to be too much…” More quick nods as his grip quickly tightened in my hair. He didn’t argue. Just nodded once quickly, an eye twitching out of nervousness.

Another sharp gasp as my warm mouth slid back onto his now cool dick, spit cold from being exposed for too long. The temperature change had him digging his nails into my skull. Not hard, but definitely noticeable. My hair was pulled taught, but he didn’t pull me off. He kept a grip but didn’t try to set a pace, arms frozen at the pleasure.

I started moving again, keeping my teeth away and my lips tight around the flesh. His thighs were shaking now too. I had to keep a hand on each one because with every tensing of his body, his legs tried to get closer together. He just about throbbed on my tongue. Breath picking up anytime I could swallow around his head. I was only able to breathe through my nose, hot breath coming out as even as I could manage against his stomach.

The living room was hot and hazy, TV in the background completely forgotten but still on. Singing some cartoon theme song as the intro started up again. It was kinda fucked up that I slowly started moving to the beat of one of my favorite kid's cartoons while I gave a blowjob. (Sadly not my weirdest sexual experience.)

And then it was too much. I felt a harsh tug on the back of my hair, followed by “Shit, shit, shit, FUCK!”

And he came. He tried to pull me off in time, but it was too much too fast… And then I could taste it, shooting out against my tongue before he was able to pull out. Leaving the rest to run down my chin. Salty and bitter and too much, too much.

His hands were still clawed into my hair as I proceeded to cough cum onto my lap and my STILL hard dick. My nails dug into the insides of his thighs as I kept myself from doubling over.

“Sorry,” spilled out of his lips before I could stop him. His hands immediately released my head, smalling back down on the couch. “Fuck.”

“I-It’s alright,” oh, geez that tastes gross…

“... It’s not… It’s why it’s disgusting… all the… fluids.” I looked back up at him, wiping my chin with the back of my hand.

“But you liked it?” I asked with a low chuckle, looking up at him. Instead of answering he turned his head away, face staying red at the question. The aloof mother fucker.

But this is Johnny we’re talking about.

It means he liked it.

I kissed where his base and leg met, right on top of the tendon that was pulled tight because of his tensed muscles. He was shaking still, less violently, but still, fast. Like he was vibrating in his seat as he got over the afterglow.

He was panting shallowly, heart racing, and eyes wide and glazed over in bliss. Oh, I loved this new look… especially on HIS face…

He looked animalistic and drained. I kissed his prick, causing an oversensitive growl to drip between his teeth before I sat back up next to him, one hand still on his thigh. Next to him, I was still hard and panting, too lazy to take care of myself and he just kept staring at it. I mean, at my dick mostly, but still at ME. Not completely wanting to look at my face…

“I love you.” It was something I didn’t say often, and I doubted he even heard me. I don’t think he’s ever really responded to it either, but I didn’t mind. “Did you like it…?” I asked softly, waiting for some kind of answer.

I could hear a crackle in the back of his throat before he paused. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” His legs curled up, putting his feet up on the couch, pants having slipped off his ankles and being left on the floor. I chuckled at that, getting a look from him at my reaction to the action. “Some other time… would you like to do it again?”

“Yes,” he spoke quickly, almost before I could finish. How eager he was to continue the experience. I smiled at that, and in turn, a smile spread to his face too. Crooked and awkward and absolutely perfect.

“Would you like to do… more? In the future, of course.” He didn’t answer this one, just nodded lightly, only once, with his hand covering his mouth again, making a face as he wiped off his previous drool.

I rested my head against his shoulder, stripping off my shorts as the cum dried on the tops of them, and tossing them to the floor. I similarly pulled my knees to my chest, letting my legs rest against his. And he didn’t reject the touch like he normally would.

He didn’t like flesh on flesh, not like this. We’ve spooned before, slept in the same room, fully clothed (which wasn’t great because I normally sleep naked). So this was new too.

This was nice.

“I like you,” I said sweetly, hoping I’d get a response. He finally looked at me. Just for a moment. And then we didn’t look at one another, just went back to watching TV. Quite and content.

“... I like you too.”

And he just… smiled.


	2. Chapter 2

“Did you really have to leave marks?” Johnny asked, voice verging on annoyed as he looked into the bathroom mirror.

“‘Cause I like to look at them,” I answered from the shower as I finished washing my hair. Stepping out, he wasn’t even surprised I ignored privacy. I tended to walk around my own home with boxers and socks on, sometimes less. Johnny’s grown used to seeing me this way.

“Why the hell would you want to look at bruises?” he asked, honestly confused. “What’s the need to mark someone like this? No one else is gonna see them…” I was standing behind him, pressed against his clothed back. He still had on jeans and a turtleneck, not wanting to feel exposed, or even look at the blemishes that littered his pale neck.

Apparently being touched with me in this state was still a little… mixed feelings. (More that I liked it and he normally didn’t.) He whipped himself around to face me, pressing his back against the sink and my chest to his. I kept my hands up in a mock surrender, showing him that I wasn’t touching him in any other way. A weird thing I had to learn to not get a broken finger (hasn’t happened yet, but there have been a few close calls).

“You know I hate when you do that, why-”

“The marks aren’t for anyone else. Only for ME to look at,” I told him, bringing my hands down to his shoulders, close to his neck.

“And again I ask, why?” I slid my hand to the right side of his neck. Where the two darkest marks where.

“So I can find it again.”

“Find what…” I pressed my thumb against the mark under his ear. Where his lobe attached to his jaw. The skin was thin there, and it was easy to press against the bone through it. An annoyed sigh came out of Nny at the action, but it was a start. I slid my thumb down to the second mark, tracing down his carotid artery till I got to it. This one was my favorite. Not quite on his windpipe, but just on the artery. A sensitive spot, I’ve found.

“The spot that makes you melt…” I whispered to him, pressing down on the bruise. An unwanted moan slipped through his teeth. He bit his lip to stop it, almost cracking the sink with how hard he had it gripped behind him.

“Put some fucking pants on.”

“I like that look on your face-”

“Stop it.” and I was done.

I was done, stepped back, walking to my room to do exactly what he’d wanted of me; putting some fucking pants on. Sweatpants, whatever.

“You gonna try and sleep tonight, or just watch TV till I wake up?” I asked, pulling a tank-top on, in case he actually wants to be in the same bed. His insomnia seemed to lessen the more I slept next to him. The warmth of another person and the help of weighted blankets seemed to calm him down enough, but I could never tell which one actually made a difference.

He made a serious of grumbling noises while he stuck his head in the sink, “Probably, it's been, what?... Seven days?”

“Sounds about right,” I held the blanket up for him to get under. “Wanna cuddle? I put pants on.”

“I’m warm.”

“You’re wearing jeans, socks and two shirts, of course you’re warm… You can take some of those off if you want. I won’t mind.” Though, he knows this. I’d never mind, as long as he was comfortable. though I did take away his pillow knife. It’s not great to wake up from a stab wound in the thigh. Not sure why he did it, and he refuses to talk about it, but I think he forgot who was in the same bed as him. Or forgot I was there.

He reluctantly through the top shirt across the room, still leaving him in a turtleneck, but still. It was a start.

And then he curled up into a ball as far from my side of the bed as possible.

“You okay-”

“How do you even tolerate me?” he mumbled, interrupting me and curling even further into himself.

“Ah, w-what?”

“You know my past, all the things I’ve done, people I’ve killed… how I’ve killed them, the ways I’ve… ACTED while doing it. Sick fantasies, obscene acts with no feasible redemption… all to fill some void with I DON’T KNOW FUCKIN’ WHAT! To achieve… something. Something with a simple answer but I’m too much of a FUCKIN’ idiot to FUCKIN’ FIGURE IT OUT!... Why do you even… like me?” He was shaking, panicking even. I got one of my arms underneath him and pulled him towards me, his hands instantly latching onto my arm, nails biting into flesh, not wanting me to take my hands away. I put my other arm around him and buried my face into the back of his neck. This was the only way I knew how to calm people down… and it wasn’t working.

“I like you… I like you here and now, what you’ve done in the past doesn’t have to affect what you do now, I know you’d never hurt ME-”

“I’ve already stabbed you twice in the month we’ve been together-”

“Not on purpose… Besides, I started it. Knocked you unconscious and tied you to a chair for three days.” The shaking slowed a bit, grip loosening on my arm, but not letting go. “Besides, I’m no saint either. Fuck, there’s a client’s victim in the basement as we speak!”

“That’s work it’s not… It’s not the same.”

“... I know it’s not.” There was a long pause then. And he shifted next to me, curling further, but fitting his way against my body. He was warm, and it probably wasn’t helping him stop panting after shaking so violently.

“At least now… I’m happy,” he stated suddenly.

“That’s good.”

“Is it? Every time I’m happy… Something bad happens. I feel bad for something i’ve done, or someone gets hurt, or whatever it is that brings me the illusion of joy is a disgrace, disgusting. Now that the DoughBoys are gone, I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel. To suddenly have control is the most terrifying thing. I can’t place blame for my actions on something else, I can’t talk away my scrambled emotions to something…”

“You can talk to me… if it helps.” The conversation was all over the place.

“I’m… AFRAID, that I might hurt you,” he finally admitted. “That I’ll start getting ideas that aren't my own again. Or maybe they are my own, but I don’t want them. I don’t want to get ideas about… you. I always hurt people I like. I don’t want to get ideas about killing you.”

“Have you… gotten any ideas about it?” Silence. “Nny.” I asked softly.

“... Yes.” He admitted, ashamed.

“Would you actually do it?”

“No!” The answer was quick, no hesitation.

“Then I trust you won’t. You said it yourself, you have control now, no one can make you do anything.” I’m unsure how long I held him like this. With him in my arms, his nails lightly scratching and digging at my arms, but they didn’t want me to let him go. I didn’t mind it, it didn’t hurt. In fact, it was almost comforting to feel him move against me, and before I knew it I had fallen asleep. I normally fell asleep before him, so this wasn’t new… But this was the first time he let me fall asleep this close to him.

When I woke up again it had only been a few hours. The sun had barely come up through the window, so it was probably about two in the morning. Maybe three. It wasn’t normal for me to wake up with only a few hours of sleep, but when I noticed the moving in my arms I knew why I’d woken up.

“What are you doing?” I asked, voice deep with sleep and coming out muffled from my pillow. I shiver ran up his body and he froze, stopping his squirming against me. Stopped his squirming against my… uh... Oh, shit.

“... You woke me up.”

“What?”

“Your fuckin’...” He didn’t say ‘dick’, but he rubbed up against me again to prove his point.

A moan left my lips before I could stop it, and I nudged my nose against the back of his neck. “...Do that again.”

“Fuck you.” but even saying that, he didn’t let my arms go. It didn’t seem like he had moved at all from his spot in my arms, even while I slept.

“Please?” I asked, voice tired and desperate. And thank, who fucking knows at this point, he does. I let my breath out against his neck, and another shiver runs up his body, making him press against me again, repeating this perfect cycle again. I didn’t move my arms from around him, aside from tightening around his torso. Again though, not that I could. “Can I touch you?”

“Why?”

“Because I want to-”

“But why… why would you want to?” he interrupted me, stopping his movement, but staying pressed tightly against me.

“... Do you not want me to?”

“I want you… to do… something.”

“You’re gonna have to let my arms go if you want me to do, ‘something.’” I teased, but he ignored it (for the most part). He paused, but ultimately let one go, now gripping the other arm with both hands, nails back to the skin. Both as a warning and to ease his anxiety. But mostly as a warning because I think I’m bleeding. “Can I touch you?” I tried to ask again while he pulled my arm fully to his chest.

“... Yes.” I went slow. I may have had permission, but I never knew if he had a weapon, or what his reactions were going to be. It was… exciting, in a weird way. My hand found its way over his clothed bulge, taught against his jeans. It was harder for me to feel him through the fabric than it was for him to feel me. Sweatpants didn’t really hide much.

I was able to get a few light strokes in before being stopped. “Under.”

“What?”

“The fabric… under the fabric…” I loved it when he got like his. Stuttering and unable to form coherent sentences. Turning a poetic masterpiece into a puddle of half wanted pleasure.

He was normally so cold, but his flesh was burning hot in comparison. The shift from how hot his skin was to how normally my hands were… oh, he shifted at how cold I seemed, nails pinching into my arm just a little harder. But it was worth it to have him press back into me so hard.

I let out a soft chuckle, squeezing harder as I started to stroke him a little faster. Running my thumb over his head, smearing precum down his cock and pulling back his sensitive foreskin. My arm in his hands was definitely going to be bruised in the later morning, but it was worth it. Oh, it was worth it, to hear him give off a shaky groan at the feeling.

“You okay?”

“Shut up.”And I did, opting to use my mouth for something more fun. My face left the back of his neck, teeth lightly nipping at his ear. Yep, my arm is definitely bleeding.

One of the arms wrapped around mine slid up, wanting to hold my hand instead. I tried to squeeze it back, even when the nails returned, now digging into my knuckles.

“Why’d you stop....?” I hadn’t even noticed my hand had stopped moving until he spoke. 

“I wanted to see what you’d do.”

There was a moment of hesitation before he spoke again,“... I want to look at you…”

“That’s a new one-”

“Shut up,” but this time he said it, it was softer, like he didn’t mean it. Not that I’d have stopped talking anyways.

There was some awkward shuffling and twisting as he turned around, looking down at my body under the covers than actually at my face. It was understandable though, this was stressful.

When I first started… doing things in college, I didn’t even want to be a part of it. But once I got started, I never wanted it to end. But for someone like Johnny… Someone that could easily de-hand you if you put it somewhere unpleasant, his stress was on a whole different level. I can only imagine how his brain processes things, but for him to start asking things of me (which he never did) was more than odd.

Instead of looking at my face, he looked down at my body. Looking down at the sweatpants that didn’t seem to fit anymore.

I pressed a kiss to his forehead. I knew he didn’t want to look up, but I still wanted to touch him. My hand that was in his was now pressed against his chest, his hands both over it, pressing it harder into his shirt. My other hand went back to his cock, moving a little faster than before with the new angle.

“You doin' alright there buddy?”

“Shut up,” he tried again, but just as a breath against my collarbone. It meant nothing, it was just a mumble to keep away from the slick noises coming from between us. He always spoke clearly and concisely, always saying what he meant... but this wasn’t one of those times.

“Do you want me to do anything else?” He shook his head against my shoulder, hips bucking lightly every time I pulled back his foreskin. “Can I... “ I trailed off, unsure of how to phrase the question.

“Yes,” he mumbled against my neck before I could even finish. I chuckled to myself, not wanting him to hear, but smiling wide at another shiver ran up his spine from the vibrations in my chest.

“Can I move my hips… against yours?”

There was now a hesitation, a pause before he answered, but eventually, there was a, “Yes.”

My hand on his chest clutched his shirt, and my hand used to jerk him off made its way to his hips. The poor thing let out a whimper at the lack of contact but didn’t complain any more than saying, “Fuck you,” and holding my wrist enough to bruise it. I let out a hiss of pain at the action, pulling his hips towards mine as I ground into him. My wrist was gripped again, hard but not as bruising as the last time, as well as teeth sinking into my shoulder. Sharp but pleasant, pressing his tongue flat against the muscle. A soothing, searing heat that made me press against him harder.

“Fuck.” he tried to say against my flesh, coming out muffled and warped at how wide his mouth was against me. A few more thrusts later, my dick slipped out of the loose elastic, pressing it against his exposed member.

In a flash, one of the hands holding mine was gripping at my waist, stopping all movement.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to- aw, FUCK!” his teeth bit harder into my flesh, stopping me as I spoke. And then there was a pause. His canines left my shoulder, leaving a string of saliva that connected us still. “You okay?”

“... I… I ruined it.”

“What?”

“The moment’s gone, I-” He stumbled on his words, but I interrupted before he could stammer out the rest.

“You didn’t do anything. You’re fine, I don’t-”

“I hurt you.”

“... What?”

“Your fucking neck is bleeding!” I couldn’t even tell. “I don’t… I didn’t mean to. I can’t-”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I stated again, finally feeling the warm liquid seep farther under me. It wasn’t much, but I could see blood on Nny’s face in the dim lighting.

“Aren’t you in pain?”

“... Maybe I like it.” He seemed taken aback at the response.

“What… what’s wrong with you?”

“Enough.” Enough is wrong with me… That’s all I could think to say. The hand I had on his shirt moved up to his neck. Just enough to push at the hickeys I had left the day before. He bit the inside of his cheek but didn’t argue. “Isn’t this painful?”

“Ah- No.” He stammered, trying not to moan. He didn’t like making noises.

“But it’s a bruise… shouldn’t it hurt?” I didn't let him answer, pressing harder and starting to rock my hips again. He didn’t answer me. Instead, letting me nip at his neck again. This time, with no argument. I pressed my tongue against the bruise before biting it lightly. Or, lighter than Nny had at least. The hand on my hip gave a light movement, a little sway. This is the most he’s ever asked for… actually, this is the first time he’s asked for anything. With or without words.

I picked up my pace a little bit. Not even bothering to put myself back into my pants, just continuing to grind against him. Soft and wet and just slick enough to give me movement.

“I’m warm,” I stated, breathing hard against his neck. He nodded in agreement. “Can I take my shirt off?”

“Yes,” he finally said after a moment, though only when my hips slowed down. I pushed off the bed, straddling his hips as I got on top of him. This turned out to be a bad choice of moves. The sudden action caused a grunt, a curse, and (weirdly enough) a fork in my hip.

I took off my shirt anyways. “Why did you have a fork on you?” I asked, pulling the small thing out and tossing it to the floor with a ‘clang’ by my clothes.

“No idea,” he replied, now realizing that four individual two millimeter deep dents in my skin weren’t going to stop me at this point. The hands that were on my hips slip a little farther up, resting on top of the bone.

My hips continued to sway above him, teasing him against me.

“Can I take this off?” I asked, first gripping the chest of his shirt. It was hard to tell through the grunts and cursing, but I was pretty sure he had said ‘No.’ So the shirt stayed on.

Another questioning grunt came out of him as I wrapped my hand around both of us. My hips never stopped moving, and his never started, but there was a slight buck at the touch when I started moving my hand.

I wasn’t much for moaning. I didn’t like the way it sounded and I didn’t like to make it. I watch porn on mute because it’s downright annoying… but Johnny… his weren’t fakes. His weren’t some intention to make me feel better, or some random noise to drown out the silence, no!

His were perfect.

Small and soft and hidden. Only made because of me, because he couldn't hold them back.

And then I came, coating my hand and dripping onto his shirt (I’d have to wash that immediately). My hand didn’t stop moving until he came soon after, his nails digging into my sides as he did so as if he were trying to make every finger its own weapon. Scratching and pushing and bruising and holding onto me for dear life…

I fell off of him onto my side of the bed, letting him breathe.

“You good?” I felt the need to ask. I got a noise while he wiped himself off. He stood up, taking off his shirt and quickly replacing it with the one he had thrown down earlier.

“Gross,” he said as he looked at the stain (it’s a black shirt, it’ll be fine), throwing the shirt down before coming back to bed..

I got a good look at his back. Skinny and pale. Bruised from our kidnapies fighting back, and bandages I had placed (when he let me).

“I do want to see you naked at some point,” I told him outright.

“You WANT to see something malnourished, something so… weak… gaunt, wasted, emaciated-” I stopped him before this spiraled further into a possible panic attack.

I put my hand on his clothed chest, trying to help slow his speeding breath. “I want to look at YOU, and all the imperfections that might come with it.”

“You are the weirdest, cheesiest, most fucked up person I have ever let live.”

“‘I’M’ the weird one?” I chuckled to myself, getting an angered glance from Nny. “You just stabbed me with a fork!” I laughed a little louder at just how stupid it sounded out loud. He turned onto his side, facing away from me, like he had been before we had started this.

“You’re still bleeding. And it’s not funny.” I ignored the comment, pulling up my pants and ignoring my lack of a shirt. Normally I would get yelled at for that last part, yet I was met with little protest when I pulled his back to my chest, once again.

And I was delighted to have his soft breathing slow to a sleep.


End file.
